Uncommon
by Rilina
Summary: “Commoner coffee” makes a comeback at the host club. Haruhi-centric.


**Spoilers: **For episode 10 of the anime, or volume 4 of the manga.

**Notes:** With apologies to the kdrama cite _Coffee Prince. _Belated winter gift fic for springgreen. Posted for halfamoon community on LiveJournal.

* * *

1. 

The rich smell of coffee greets Haruhi as she enters the third music room. Once again, she's running late, having been waylaid by a concerned teacher—her grades are slipping again—and a clump of squealing girls on the way. And though she still sees the host club's productions as frivolous at best, she feels a pang of something resembling guilt when she sees the others are already in costume, preparing for the day's roles.

Kyouya intercepts her before she's taken two steps. He doesn't mention her tardiness, but it's clear he's noted it. Haruhi thinks darkly that he's probably adding some penalty to her ever-accruing debt. "Your outfit is in the back," he tells her with the smile that all the hosts have learned to fear. Before she can ask him about the bar now occupying the center of the music room, he murmurs, "Hikaru, Kaoru," and the twins are sweeping her away, one latched to each of her elbows.

She shoos them away long enough to have privacy as she scrambles in the set of clothing thrust into her arms. For once it's relatively subdued—white dress shirt, black vest and slacks, and a simple ribbon tie. "Why are we dressed like waiters?" she asks when she emerges in her costume. She tugs at her vest in an attempt to get it straight.

"Not waiters, Haruhi," the twins say in unison. "Coffee Princes." Hikaru perfects her bow tie; Kaoru straightens her collar. In response to her blank look, Kaoru adds, "Baristas."

She still doesn't understand, and there's no time for more explanations; the twins are hauling her back out front, where the first customers have already arrived, their yellow dresses bright against the dark wood and chrome of the massive bar. Tamaki is already holding court at one end of the bar, declaiming at great length about technique as he pours boiling water over a filter cup filled with coffee grounds. "The proper motion comes from the shoulder, not the wrist." Steam rises from the cup. The girls ooh and aah. At the other end of the bar, Mori removes a gigantic waffle from a square iron. It's immediately consumed by Honey with large quantities of cream and jam.

"Oh, a coffee bar." It's a strangely tame choice for a role play; Haruhi's surprised Kyouya approved it. He's seated at one of the round tables, analyzing different roasts of coffee for a rapt audience. "What am I supposed to be doing?"

"Your station is over here," Hikaru says. Haruhi's instantly wary; there's too much laughter in his voice and Kaoru's face. She's maneuvered to a table where her regulars are already waiting, their manicured hands folded neatly on their laps, lips curved into careful smiles. She manages not to groan when she spies the source of everyone's hilarity: an electric kettle, a jar of instant coffee, packets of sugar and fake creamer, and a plate piled high with individually wrapped convenience store cookies.

There's nothing to do but get on with it. "I apologize for being late," she says and slips into the seat that's been saved for her.

* * *

2. 

Like all of the host club's lesser fads, the initial interest in "commoner coffee" was short-lived and quickly forgotten. Haruhi was grateful when the instant coffee was put away and the usual gourmet coffees and teas returned to the club tables. It wasn't that she was ashamed of her taste. She just disliked being made to feel like a performing monkey. And frankly, she appreciated the fine coffees as much as the next student.

Now she's back where she started. "Please make us coffee, Haruhi-kun," one of the customers says, pitching her voice to be heard over the clatter of the espresso machines. (The twins are making cappuccinos.) "Yes, please," the others echo.

So Haruhi mixes cups of instant coffee and demonstrates how to open the cookies' wrappings without crushing their contents. The girls ignore her instructions and blush as they scatter crumbs on their starched yellow dresses; they take tiny sips of their coffee and titter. The conversation eventually trails off, and Haruhi takes a perfunctory sip from her own cup as the silence begins to feel awkward. As usual, the flavor seems off.

Tamaki bursts into her circle, eliminating the need for any new conversational gambits. He demands a review of her cookie-unwrapping lessons, and requests that she prepare a cup for him as well. The girls coo over Haruhi's irritation and Tamaki's chatter. "During my recent study of commoner culture," Tamaki explains to Haruhi's regulars, "I made many attempts to brew commoner coffee, but none of my cups had the flavor and fragrance of Haruhi's. Yes, yes, Daddy fell short of the standard set by his dau-- . . . ah, child. It is clear that a truly divine cup requires instruction from authentic commoners."

Haruhi's hands are moving automatically through her task. A heaping spoonful of coffee, packets of creamer and sugar, topped by enough freshly boiled water to fill the cup to the brim. Without thinking, she begins to talk. "No one ever taught me how to make it. My mother used to make it for herself and my father after dinner; she'd bring it to the table, and they would talk about the day." She pushes the cup into Tamaki's hands and goes on. "She'd often put fruit on the same tray—apples and pears and persimmons—and peel and slice them as they talked. She always removed the peel in one piece. I can't do that. But at least I can make coffee for my dad, now that my mother is gone. I--"

"Fruit, not cookies." Kyouya's voice, just behind her shoulder. She turns in time to see him make a cryptic annotation on his usual clipboard. And when she turns back to her customers, she finds them sniffling into their handkerchiefs. Tears are running down Tamaki's face.

"Never fear, my precious child!" Tamaki cries. "Daddy will prepare coffee for you in the future! Daddy will not be defeated by this challenge!" He launches himself at her, knocking over two coffee cups and a small table.

On that chaotic note, the host club adjourns for the day.

* * *

3. 

The twins offer her a lift home; after her third refusal, they drop the subject, though they're obviously forming some new scheme even as she walks away. Honey seems ready to follow suit, but Mori distracts him at the crucial moment with a fresh waffle. Haruhi makes a mental note to thank Mori later. She evades Tamaki's usual attentions by sneaking out a side door. She's a block from campus when the Ohtori limousine pulls up beside her. The rear side window rolls down. "A ride, Haruhi?" Kyouya asks.

"No, thank you, Kyouya-sempai," she says. "I prefer to walk."

"My regards to your father," Kyouya says. The mirrored glass slides back up, leaving Haruhi face-to-face with her own reflection. The limousine drives away.

She's not entirely sure why she's regretting sharing that particular memory. All she knows is that she would have kept it to herself if she had been less exhausted, on better guard. At least she only gave them the barest details; that's one small comfort.

_—clink, clink, clink; the spoon knocking against the mugs as each is stirred in turn. Steady hands lift the cheerfully patterned melamine tray. Seven slow steps from the kitchen to the living room; Father rises to help. When the tray's deposited on the table, not a single drop has been spilled. Haruhi leans against her mother's warm shoulder and stares longingly at the light brown liquid; it must be wonderful if she's not allowed to have any. She begs for a sip and is given a bite of apple_—

"I'm home," she calls automatically as she slips off her shoes.

"Welcome," her father calls from his bedroom. Haruhi finds him preparing for his own workday. His hand shakes despite his best attempts to steady it as he applies mascara.

"Do you have time to eat? I can make dinner."

He nods without thinking, smears his makeup. "Damn. How was school?"

"Long."

_—"Let her try some. What harm can it do?" A cautious sip; her parents' peals of laughter as her mouth puckers— _

At dinner, she watches her father eat. "How is it?"

"Delicious," he mumbles through a mouthful of food.

He looks as weary as she feels; she wishes he didn't have to work so hard. She pokes at her own meal for another minute before asking, "When I make coffee, does it taste right to you? It never tastes right to me."

"Everything you make tastes wonderful," he says, but his response is too automatic for her to find it comforting.

"It doesn't taste like Mother's. Maybe I put in too much sugar? Or add things in the wrong order?"

"You're forgetting something." Her father smiles at her, suddenly wise. "There's also your secret ingredient!"

She doesn't understand and says as much. When he explains what he means, Haruhi sighs and asks him why everyone in her life is so crazy.

* * *

4. 

She's waylaid again on her way to the third music room, but this time host club members are responsible. She supposes she should be glad that Kyouya's delegated the task to the twins; they are at least efficient when it comes to such things. Tamaki would chatter so much that they would never get anywhere.

"I was on my way," she protests as she's dragged through the school's hallways.

When they reach the music room, she discovers that the usual décor has been restored. There's no coffee bar or espresso machines, no shelves piled high with saucers and demitasses. But on one of the round tables, there are once again the makings of commoner coffee.

"You rushed me here because you wanted me to make instant coffee?" she asks as they sit her down at the table.

Kaoru shakes his head; Hikaru says, "Just the opposite." And Tamaki is saying something as well, at his usual great length, but Haruhi mostly ignores him. Instead she watches the other host club members move through an elaborately staged production. Hikaru measures instant coffee into a clean cup, then passes the cup over to Kaoru, who adds a packet of fake creamer. Honey takes the cup from Kaoru and drops in five sugar cubes; Mori carries it from Honey to Tamaki, removing three of the sugar cubes along the way. Tamaki adds hot water with his usual flair, and, last but not least, Kyouya stirs the contents with a silver spoon--- em clink, clink, clink /em --before setting the cup before Haruhi.

She eyes it with some suspicion. Past experiences with the host club have taught her that too many cooks in the kitchen is never a good thing.

"Haru-chan, Haru-chan, how does it taste?" Honey bounces forward with a heavily laden plate. "Have some fruit! There are strawberries!"

Not just strawberries, but apples and pears and persimmons and kiwi, all gloriously out of season, peeled and sliced and artfully arranged on the plate. "You prepared this for me?" The boys exchange looks. She revises her question. "Your chefs prepared this for me?"

They nod.

The cup's still steaming before her; she braces herself for the worst and drinks. To her relief, it's not bad, though it's still not very good. "Tasty," she says. Everyone but Kyouya appears to believe her.

Maybe her father's partially right after all. While she refuses to believe that the secret ingredient in great coffee is "love, love, love," there is something to be said for coffee made by someone else, coffee that isn't her own. It's not unpleasant to be waited upon from time to time. She leans back in her chair and eats one of the perfectly ripe strawberries. It tastes like summer.

Around her, the rest of the host club is reverting to form. Kyouya is sitting at a nearby table with his laptop—no doubt charging the day's expenses against her debt—while Honey is cutting himself an enormous slice of cake. Mori watches over him in silence. Across the table, a battle is brewing as the twins and Tamaki squabble over the right to make Haruhi's next cup of commoner coffee. Haruhi wonders how much coffee she'll have to drink before she's allowed to go home.

"Thank you," she says. No one hears her. She eats another strawberry and shrugs. They probably understand anyway.


End file.
